The Way is the Goal
by Shiyaki
Summary: A collection of oneshots about what happened prior to, inbetween and after the happenings of 'Poison'.
1. First Meetings

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor The Hobbit and I don't earn any money with this story.

**Author's note**: Poison turned out different than what I had planned, why wouldn't the pairing? In poison it was supposed to be Elrond x Harry… yeah, didn't happen. This time you'll be a bit closer to knowing just _who_se offspring Eiren is.

**Rating: T**

**Warning: **pre-slash, future mpreg

* * *

"Are you going to stand there all day?"

Harry turned the page of the book he was currently perusing, but his attention had long since shifted to the person standing in the doorway of the library. If war hadn't taught him how to notice the distinct feeling of being watched, then Middle Earth with all its dangerous creatures would have done the job.

**Constant Vigilance!**

And all that.

It had certainly saved his life more than once.

The brunet caught a deep chuckle, followed by the barely audible rustling of cloth – the only indication of movement. Seconds later the person stepped close enough to be visible in his peripheral vision and Harry was, yet again, unbelievably thankful to Gandalf for fixing the blurry mess that had been his eyesight.

Finally foregoing the pretence of reading, the wizard focused his gaze on the male elf and eyed him unashamedly. He was tall and wore his dark, straight hair long and in braids– like just about every elf Harry'd ever encountered, especially in Imladris. If not for the eyes, the male next to him would have been just another face to be forgotten as soon as the elf was out of his sight. They reminded him just enough of Sirius to make his heart ache even after all these years. Not only were they steel-grey in colour, they also held a hint of darkness and pain mixed with copious amounts of mischievousness.

A _prankster_ then. Probably.

"Can I help you?" Harry had been in the 'last homely home' for about a week now and though he had got some curious glances here and there, he had not been subjected to blatant staring until now.

The elf grinned and sat down on one of the ornately decorated chairs. The effortless grace he displayed while doing so was, admittedly, a bit annoying.

"I have not been in Imladris for quite a while, so when I came home and heard about a friend of Mithrandir's being our guest, my curiosity was roused," the elf commented smirking and idly unrolled one of the yellowed scrolls. He skimmed the contents, raised a dark eyebrow and took an intrigued look at the stack of books next to Harry, which were mainly about the Valar and the world beyond Middle Earth. "Interesting reading choice."

Harry couldn't help staring. He had met quite a few elves during his research, but none of them had seemed quite at ease as the one in front of him. A lot of them were haughty bastards with a stick up their arse. The exact opposite was comprised of the kind, but usually still reserved elves. And Thandruil... Thandruil was in a class of his own. At least in this world. He wouldn't have been out of place next to the Malfoys, however.

A poke to his forehead pulled the brunet out of his musing.

"I know, I am a handsome fellow and you can't help yourself, but please _do_ try to pay attention."

Harry scowled and rubbed the poor abused spot. Perhaps the elf was a bit _too_ at ease, but his company wasn't entirely unwelcome anyway and the brunet's research wasn't progressing anytime soon. Or ever.

Harry had been in Middle Earth for quite some time now and most of it had been spent in libraries of various races or travelling from place to place. He _may_ have helped – read rescued - a person or two, as well. In the beginning he had been quite determined to find a way back to his friends, his godson and his family of choice, but as the years passed, the continued search for information had been more out of habit and lack of anything else to do than the belief of actually finding something noteworthy. Not even Gandalf, Galadriel or Elrond – beings that had dwelled on Middle Earth for millennia - had a solution for his plight.

_Of course_ he still wanted to see the people he had left behind, but what would happen if he _did_ manage to get back at this point? How many years had passed in the world he had been born into? Was anyone even still alive? What would they think about his lack of aging?

The elf uttered a very dramatic, long-suffering sigh next to him.

"Well, since you seem to be too busy drifting off to appreciate my splendid company and I still have to seek out _ada (father)_, I will come find you another time, _tithen curunír (little wizard)_. Look forward to it!" The still nameless elf flashed him another grin and was gone in the blink of an eye.

Taken by surprise by the abrupt departure, Harry stared at the empty chair for a long while. He hadn't meant to get caught up in his own thoughts, especially when the company was promising, but he was, unfortunately, very adept at brooding.

And now his mind had something new to ponder.

* * *

The next day Harry forwent going to the library. Instead he took his time exploring Imladris – something he hadn't really done before. The blending of stone, water and greenery reminded him uncannily of Hogwarts and its grounds. Not to mention the vibrant magic wafting through the air. It was a soothing place and - though he had seen many beautiful sights during his journey - his favourite by far.

Two hours into his walk through breathtaking gardens and over narrow bridges, the brunet found what appeared to be the archery training ground. It was currently occupied by several elves of either sex, but only two of them had managed to catch his attention.

It had been just this morning during breakfast when Lord Elrond had spoken of his two sons – Elladan and Elrohir -, who had got into the habit of running around with the Dúnedain of the North. He had _not_ mentioned that they were identical twins, however.

One of them stood to the side, watching, while the other was the epitome of concentration – which wasn't surprising, considering his intention of hitting a target that was ridiculously far away, even by elven standards.

Harry stepped a bit closer and couldn't help holding his breath, when the arrow was released. It darted through the air like a Firebolt at its best and finally met the target with a – to him – barely audible thud.

Bull's eye.

The brunet released his breath with a whooshing sound. The keen eyesight of elves was, of course, well-known, but seeing the target didn't automatically mean the arrow had enough drive to reach it, just like spotting the snitch was no guarantee for being able to catch it.

"_Elo muindor (Lo and behold dear brother)_, he ventured out of the library on his own! Do you think it is due to my charming demeanour?"

Harry eyed the approaching elf on the right - the one who had shot the arrow – and snorted softly.

"Maybe it would have been, had I met you before _now_."

Both brothers blinked simultaneously, then shared a _Look_. It wasn't hard to guess, what they thought, though. At first Harry may have been reminded of his godfather due to the colouring, but now his mind conjured up the image of two people who had also liked to indulge in mischief, especially in the form of switching their identities. Few people had been capable of telling them apart.

"Don't look so shocked. I've been friends with identical twins for _years_. I've learned to look for the differences," Harry commented and idly gazed at the barely visible scar on left elf's pointed ear. Neither brother seemed to notice.

"And how do we differ in your eyes?"

The brunet grinned and shook his head.

"Oh, I don't think, I'll tell you. You'll try to trick me again. And _talking about_ _tricking_-" Harry's grin quickly turned into a smirk, when he stepped closer to the twins and twisted their dark wisps of hair around his fingers. "-this is payback."

It would be quite easy to tell them apart, when one twin sported pink hair and the other baby blue.

**_Rule number one: Never try to prank a Maurauder's son._**


	2. Battle Instincts

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor The Hobbit and I don't earn any money with this story.

**Author's note**: *sigh* I don't like this chapter, but I've rewritten this about 5 million times already and by now I don't think I'll ever be happy with it so… yeah.

**Rating: T**

**Warning: ** signs of PTSD

* * *

"Can I interest you in a friendly crossing of swords?"

Harry whirled around, drew his wand and uttered the first syllable of a _confringo_, before his mind managed to catch up to his battle-honed instincts. By then it was far too late to stop the spell from forming and ultimately leaving his wand. Panicked green eyes locked with surprised silver ones as the bright red energy ball whizzed through the air, bursting into blazing fire when it finally collided with its target.

Breathless, the brunet slowly lowered his slightly trembling hand and stared at the rubble that had been a masterfully crafted balustrade only moments ago. From the corner of his eye he saw the elf - Elrohir by the looks of it - fingering some singed hair strands. Those were fortunately the only signs of bodily harm the other male had suffered from the spell Harry had derailed in the split second it had remained in his control. The wizard didn't want to think about the gruesome picture his curse would have painted, had it found its original target, but the image unwittingly crept to the front of his mind's eye and mingled with memories of spell-caused bloodshed and death long past.

"A simple 'no' would have sufficed, you know?" Elrohir finally commented with a wry grin, successfully pulling the brunet out of his gloomy thoughts. He really ought to stop drifting off, especially when his brooding had led to his inattention and, thus, this situation in the first place. Moody would have had his head!

"I... uh..." Oh Merlin, what was he supposed to say or do? A simple 'Sorry for almost blowing you up.' just wouldn't cut it. He had, after all, just attacked an elf without any real provocation. One of Lord Elrond's sons no less! The brunet idly wondered if the guards were already on their way to capture him. What did elves do with their prisoners anyway?

Then again, they were on the outskirts of the city, close to one of the training grounds and Harry had noticed that some of the elves liked to spar a bit rougher.

"Do not worry so much. I'm aware that you didn't plan to harm me on purpose. Please accept my apologies for startling you." The brunet elf bowed elegantly, his right hand resting above his heart.

Harry's eyes widened and he quickly shook his head. "NO! I mean, no, it was my fault. I should have paid more attention to my surroundings and I'm _really_ sorry for attacking you. Are you injured?"

When Elrohir negated his question, the brunet hesitantly stepped closer to take a more thorough look at the other male and fortunately couldn't see any wounds either. He couldn't help but notice the elf's still bright blue hair, however, and winced.

Great, now he even felt guilty about _that, _although it had been payback in answer to the twin's prank. Perhaps he should change it back? It was the least he could do, right? And speaking – well, thinking – of which, he should probably repair the balustrade he had destroyed, too. Facing the rubble and wincing yet again, the brunet cast a quick _reparo_ and watched on as the stones reassembled. The result was satisfactory but nowhere near perfect. Some pieces had simply been ground to dust and blown away by the wind. Another flick of his wand turned the blue hair back to black, making the singed parts less obvious.

Well, at least it soothed his guilty consciousness somewhat.

"Oh." Elrohir, who had, up till then, silently observed the reconstruction, noticed the change of colour momentarily and fingered the small, dark braid that usually rested against his collarbone. "I had planned to ask for this as my prize," the elf mused softly, before he offered Harry a small smile. "You have my gratitude for reversing the spell." The elf paused for a moment, before the smile slowly shifted into something a bit sharper. "Elladan will be quite envious."

"Price? What for?" Harry had barely acknowledged the thanksgiving, too caught up in pondering over the other's muttered words.

"In case I won the sword fight," the older brunet replied obligingly. The confident grin, tugging at the corners of Elrohir's lips, left no questions open as to who he thought would have been the victor.

Harry slowly blinked and remained silent.

"I asked you for one, when I arrived here," the elf elaborated with a raised eyebrow and patted the hilt of his sword for emphasis. Then he uttered a deep sigh. "And when I took you by surprise... You likely have not heard my inquiry..."

"Oh... you, uh, you wanted to _spar_ with me?" Harry asked somewhat incredulously and squinted at the taller male. "With _swords_? Uhm... _**no**_." He quickly held his hands up in what he hoped was the universal sign of refusal. "Sorry, you're barking up the wrong tree, Mr. Elf. I'm probably the worst person in this city you could have asked. I have absolutely no skills whatsoever."

Looking utterly unimpressed, Elrohir pointedly looked at the sword hilt sticking out of Harry's cloak.

"Why then, Mr. Wizard, are you running about with a sword of your own?"

The shorter brunet followed the elf's gaze and stared at the silvery pommel belonging to Gryffindor's sword. He had almost forgotten that it was there, to be honest. Humming softly, Harry pulled it out of the magically reinforced scabbard and regarded it for a long moment.

"It's a family heirloom and even a small nick means certain death. That's why I'm carrying it around; it would be too dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands. Even if I had agreed to spar with you, I wouldn't have used this blade for it," the wizard explained and resheashed the dangerous weapon.

"I assume poison is involved," Elrohir stated surly and Harry idly flicked his gaze from the other's dark expression to the clenched hands. The knuckles were already turning a stark white. The brunet had no idea what had happened to evoke such an intense reaction, but he had a fair idea. Harry had met a horrifying race on Middle Earth that used poison coated weapons.

Orcs.

Nasty, smelly creatures that were, unfortunately, resistant to a lot of his spells – like _stupefy_ or _petrificus totalus_. That lesson had been learnt the hard way and resulted in a broken arm, several deep cuts and a concussion. It had also led to his first encounter with Gandalf, who had shown him the ropes of Middle Earth.

Perhaps he _should_ learn how to fight with a sword. Striking it randomly at enemies, while trying to avoid chopping off own body parts was in no way practical.

"The blade is made out of a special kind of metal that absorbs everything that strengthens it. It's come into contact with the strongest snake venom I know," Harry explained and ruffled up the hair at the back of his head. He was still musing about his 'epiphany'.

Finally the brunet uttered a deep sigh.

"This might be a bad time..." Due to the lingering guilt Harry at least _felt_ like it was a terrible moment to voice his question, but couldn't help it. He knew that he would come into contact with orcs and all kinds of other sinister beings again and sooner rather than later the twins would rejoin the Rangers of the North. He was therefore operating in a short window of opportunity and had no choice but to ignore his feelings of awkwardness. "-but may I ask you for a favour?"

The elf raised an eyebrow, but inclined his head.

"State your request."

_**Rule numer two: Don't sneak up on a warrior.**_


	3. Reason for Living

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor The Hobbit and I don't earn any money with this story.

**Author's note**: Yep, still alive… and determined to finish this fic.

**Rating: T**

**Warning: **pre-slash, future mpreg

* * *

Twisting his foot slightly to get a firmer stand, Harry parried the incoming strike with his own sword. Several more blows followed in quick succession, before the brunet managed an attack of his own, which was swatted away like an annoying fly. With gritted teeth and a low growl, Harry tried again and again and again, always with the same result. He was tempted to use magic to give himself an edge, but knew it was his pride talking. It didn't want another kick in the arse and neither did he.

The brunet refrained reluctantly and raised his arms for another strike, giving his opponent the perfect opportunity to kick Harry's legs from underneath him. The wizard tumbled to the ground, a place he unfortunately knew very well by now. Directing his glare first at the pointed blade in front of his face, then at its wielder, the brunet heaved himself into a sitting position and rubbed his aching calf.

Elrohir countered the dark expression with an amused smirk and held out his hand after re-sheathing his sword.

"Falling for me yet again, I see."

Instead of accepting the offered help, Harry sent a stinging hex the elf's way, though Elrohir didn't even have the decency to flinch. Perhaps he had already developed immunity to that particular spell; he had certainly experienced it enough times. Sure, Harry was grateful for the lessons and liked spending time with the other male, but the elf was a smug, little prat more often than not.

"Now now, no need sulk, _tithen curunír_. This time you managed a full ten minutes!" And honestly, that _was_ a feat. In the beginning of his sword training, Harry had not even lasted half a minute against the elf, but now, a few months later, he managed a couple of minutes of Elrohir (mostly) putting away the kid gloves.

He _had_ made tremendous progress, but Harry would probably never be as good as a being several hundred (_thousand?_) years his senior. An elf to boot. Losing time after time was still frustrating, though.

"Exactly how I left you."

Sighing, Harry glanced to the person on the steep, stony staircase that connected the secluded training field by the river to the Elven city further up the cliff. As he was wont to do, Elladan had watched the daily sword-fighting lesson, but had disappeared half-way through only to turn up now with a basket and an amused grin curling his lips.

Instead of climbing down the last couple of steps, the elf leapt and landed, light-footed as ever, on the grass at the bottom of the stairs. One of Elladan's hands dropped into the basket and resurfaced with an apple, which sailed swiftly through the air moments later. Harry caught the tasty fruit easily and bit into it with relish. For now, his frustration was soothed.

"My hero," the wizard declared, his mouth still half-full, but not caring.

"Always at your service." Elladan sketched a playful bow, while shooting a smug smirk at his brother, which his twin answered with a disgruntled frown. Harry raised a bemused eyebrow, but decided not to question the silent communication. Instead he got off the hard earth of their training space and walked to the lush spot which harboured Gryffindor's sword during their lessons.

Upon listening to a few of Harry's stories, some featuring the achievements of his blade, the twins had decided – all by themselves - to dub it _lhûgdagnir_, which basically meant 'Snake Slayer' in Sindarin. Apparently all great swords needed a great name based on their deeds… The brunet didn't much care and still referred to it as 'Gryffindor's sword' anyway.

"Dan…" Harry frowned at Elrohir's apprehensive tone – he seldom sounded like that - and redirected his attention to the brothers. Elladan was nibbling half-heartedly on a pear-shaped fruit that tasted like nothing the wizard had ever eaten, while his twin was staring blank-faced at something in the basket. "…is this…"

"Indeed, a missive from Arador. He is enquiring about our return plans. We have already been here longer than planned, after all," Elladan explained, gravely staring at the fruit in his hand, but looking up upon hearing a dull thud.

A half eaten apple lay forgotten next to the wizard's left boot, the hand, which had held it, still raised in mid-air. Harry's mind was in a frenzy. He had known this day would come, when the twins would leave Imladris to return to the Dúnedain, but…

The brunet had wandered through Middle Earth for ages, always looking for clues to get home, even though he had quickly lost hope and with it most of his enthusiasm for just about everything. Elrohir, and to a slightly lesser extent, Elladan had somehow saved him from that miserable existence.

Sure, it wasn't like being back in his old world, with his friends and family of choice and the twins had a penchant for smugness and utterly annoying innuendos – not unlike another pair of twins he knew -, but, at least for the moment, they were his reason for _living_, not just existing. In the last few month they had laughed, teased each other, trained and shared stories and Harry couldn't quite cope with the thought of it being all over. With the loneliness returning.

And he wouldn't let that possibility become reality!

"Hey, do you think the Dúnedain would object to the help of a wizard with mediocre sword skills?"

The responding brilliant smile was the only answer he needed.

_**Rule number 3: If you wish to have something, you have to work for it.**_


	4. Thinking outside the Box

**Disclaimer: **I own neither Harry Potter nor The Hobbit and I don't earn any money with this story.

**Author's note**: That… is a lot longer than I had planned… Have fun.

**Rating: T**

**Warning: **slash, future mpreg

* * *

When Harry woke up, he _really_ wished he hadn't. The brunet had a head-ache the size of Hogwarts and for some odd reason his left shoulder ached quite a lot, as well. Had he fallen off his broom during a Quidditch game, again? No wait, he wasn't in school anymore and the Battle of Hogwarts was a thing of the past, too…

An Auror case gone wrong, perhaps?

No, still too far in the past and there was also something niggling in the back of his mind...

Taking long, deep breaths, Harry tried to sort through his jumbled memories, putting them back into their respective boxes like he had learnt during his _real_ Occlumency lessons in the Auror academy. Finally he reached a piece that explained the dark, desperate feel of a huge chunk of the yet unsorted memories in one corner of his mind scape.

He wasn't in his world anymore.

Geoffrey Shafiq, an unmarked, former death eater, had cursed Harry during an Auror raid on his house. The brunet had momentarily passed out and woken up – sans glasses - on rocky ground near a mountain range during sunset. Shortly thereafter he had been attacked by a few foul creatures, which had been pretty much immune to anything but his strongest offensive spells. Being half-blind during the fight hadn't helped either. One of the creatures had managed to break his wand arm, forcing him to drop his wand. Before all hope had been lost, though, Harry had felt a sudden weight in his pouch - which had a _**weightless**_ charm on it. Not thinking twice, the brunet had reached into it and drawn out Gryffindor's Sword – which was supposed to be in Hogwarts - with his left hand. He had clumsily pushed the blade through the creature's chest, while the last beast had been felled by a convenient newcomer, who had later introduced himself as Gandalf.

The grey cloaked stranger had somehow healed his sight and greatly alleviated his injuries, before taking him to a place called Lothlórien. During their trip, Gandalf had taken on the task of telling him the basics about Middle Earth and its inhabitants. Unfortunately the wizard – or, as they were better known as, the istari – had had no idea how to send him back home.

The Lady of the Golden Wood, Galadriel, had likewise been clueless and thus Harry's research had begun, while Gandalf had taken off to do whatever he had been planning to do prior to meeting the brunet. The wizard had spent quite some time in Lórien, painstakingly working his way through books and scrolls and learning one Elvish language or two. He had had a relatively friendly rapport with some of the elves, but it had never got deeper than that.

In the end, Harry had to move on and his way had led him north-east to the elves living in Mirkwood. The brunet had instantly disliked Thranduil, though his son Legolas and a few other elves hadn't been so bad. After receiving reluctant permission for his research, Harry had basically holed himself up in the library and only come out to eat and sometimes to sleep.

A few months later had seen him on the road again. Harry had bypassed Erebor and Esgaroth, having heard of Smaug in Mirkwood and having been unwilling to take on an unknown dragon species on his own.

The dwarf of the Iron Hills had categorically refused his requests to use their library. In fact, he hadn't even been allowed to set a foot into their mountain.

The people of Rohan and Gondor had been a lot more welcoming, but unfortunately they had had a lot less to offer in terms of books and scrolls than the elves and what the dwarfs probably had stowed away in their mountains.

By then Harry had mostly lost hope to ever get back home, but he had still wandered along the coast to the Grey Haven and then, through Eriador, to Imladris. There he had met Elladan and Elrohir, the slightly annoying but still likeable twin sons of Lord Elrond, and befriended them. He had even, after about half a year, followed them to the Dúnedain, which had been surprised, but had welcomed him readily enough. Harry had made a surprising number of friends amongst the rangers, among them Arador, the chieftain. During a scouting mission they had been ambushed by a great number of orcs and then…

Harry frowned and took a look around his mind scape. The ground was free of anything but mangled, fuzzy shards and every attempt to piece them back together or clear them up was met with a worsening of the pounding in his head. Finally the brunet admitted defeat and directed his attention to the world outside his body.

His bleary eyes confirmed, what his other senses had already noticed – the nest of blankets and furs he was lying in belonged to Harry's tent in the Ranger encampment. The brunet didn't hear breathing or any other sound indicating the presence of another person, but that didn't mean he was alone. Both elves and Dúnedain were known for stealth.

Harry slowly turned his head to the side and noticed a figure sitting a few feet from his resting place, polishing a sword. The blade was already glinting in the warm glow of the fire, but Harry knew that tell by now. Elrohir only ever took care of his blade like that, when he was thinking deeply about something or to calm down.

The sound coming out of Harry's mouth was barely a croak, but fortunately Elrohir heard him anyway. With a half-strained, half relieved smile on his lips, the older male quickly but carefully laid his sword to the side and got up to pour water into a cup.

The elf crouched next to Harry and wriggled his free arm under his back to raise the wizard's torso up, before bringing the cup to his lips. "You're an idiot," Elrohir proclaimed in a husky voice. Harry frowned slightly, but mostly concentrated on drinking his fill. He already felt a bit better, but the headache was still a persistent, little bugger. The brunet cleared his throat and tried to speak again and though his voice was still raw and quiet, it was at least audible this time. "Thanks. What happened? Can only remember the beginning of the ambush."

"We prevailed, then you suddenly appeared in front of Gwanyc and took an arrow to the shoulder, which would have pierced his heart. You managed to take the responsible orc down with a cutting spell, though a downed, yet still alive orc, yanked at your leg and you hit your head on a rock. We quickly finished off the rest." Elrohir looked murderous, a clear contrast to the usually easy-going elf. The hands laying the brunet back down, however, were very gentle.

"We wanted to take care of the poison in your shoulder, but it… it was disintegrating, even before we pulled the arrow out." Harry nodded slightly, he was pretty much immune to poison, probably due to the basilisk poison – phoenix tears mix his body had been subjected to in his youth. "Then we brought you back to the camp. You've been unconscious for three days."

The brunet studied Elrohir with half-lidded eyes, noticing the older male's knit brow, the downturned corners of his mouth, the set jaw.

"I'm fine."

The elf looked utterly unimpressed. "I beg to differ."

Harry couldn't help rolling his eyes. "I'll be fine, then, so stop looking so glum."

Instead of doing so, Elrohir gritted his teeth further and balled his hands into fists. "You…!" He dropped his chin to his chest, his hands trembling slightly. Harry blinked in surprise and reached out, but the elf got to his feet, glaring at the brunet with stormy eyes.

"A few inches to the right and you'd be dead. Or if your head had hit the rock harder-… you…" Obviously frustrated, Elrohir turned away, crossing his arms. The fingers gripping the silver-grey cloak were quickly turning white. Harry got up, his head still pounding, but determined. His body decided to sabotage his effort further by causing a sudden dizzy spell, causing him to stumble. Arms caught him, before he had a chance to acquaint himself with the ground. Without further ado Harry embraced the agitated, tense elf and dropped his head on his shoulder. He usually wasn't the hugging type, but the brunet found he didn't mind at all if it was Elrohir, especially if he was securely wrapped in the elf's arms like now.

"I'm sorry for worrying you, but I couldn't let him die. I saw the archer, but Gwanyc was too far away to warn and there were too many people to get a clean shot at the orc, so I apparated to him. I only wanted to push Gwanyc aside, but I got there too late. The arrow struck my shoulder instead," Harry explained, remembering the happenings again. He leant back to look at Elrohir's face and offered him a crooked smile.

"I'm pretty tough. You won't be rid of me that easily." He had been almost killed a couple of times and been dead once and yet he was still around. The elf stayed silent, but regarded him a lot calmer. Finally Elrohir snorted. "Now I know what you meant by 'having a saving-people thing'. I'm on my way to getting grey hair, am I not?"

Harry shrugged cheekily. "I'll turn it back to black for you, free of charge."

Elrohir grinned slightly, but quickly turned serious again. "Please promise me that you'll be more careful. I know you can take care of yourself, but even if you're "pretty tough" you aren't… you could still die easily if you recklessly jump into action like this time and I couldn't… I couldn't stand loosing you." His arms tightened and his cheeks flushed slightly.

Harry blinked, his heart skipping a beat.

"What…?"

Elrohir looked hesitant for a moment, but then determination flickered through his silvery eyes. "The first time I saw you, back in the library of Imladris, I noticed the resignation in your eyes and the loneliness weighing heavily on your shoulders. Right then I decided to… help you. I was surprised when you ventured outside on your own the very next day and even more so when you asked me for sword lessons.

When we started to spend so much time together, I quickly grew to like you. I like your mischievous side, especially because it's not visible at first glance. I like how you help other people without expecting a reward, though you apparently have the tendency to put the lives of other people above your own. I also like how determinedly you work to achieve something that's important to you. I-" Elrohir sighed and fell silent, giving the wizard a chance to absorb the revelation.

Harry gaped, beet-red and speechless. He hadn't known the older male felt this way, which, perhaps, wasn't particularly surprising. The brunet was known to be a bit oblivious to such things, after all. It therefore took him a long moment to kick his thought process back into gear.

He wasn't in love with Elrohir, that much was clear. The elf was important to Harry, however, and he quite liked spending time with him, otherwise he wouldn't have accompanied Elrohir to the Dúnedain. But the same could be said about Elladan...

The brunet tried to picture kissing either twin, thereby rekindling the blush on his cheeks. It wouldn't be a hardship in either case, but while the imagined situation with Elladan was simply 'alright', the thought of kissing Elrohir caused his heart to beat a little bit faster.

"I'm sorry, I… uh… haven't noticed. And… uhm… I can't promise you anything, but I'd be willing to try, if that's alright with you?" The wizard proposed haltingly, blushing furiously but holding the other's gaze.

Elrohir blinked in surprised, then stared at Harry for a long moment, before he finally pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of the brunet's mouth.

"That would make me very happy. But first we shall get you back to bed." The familiar, easy grin was back on the elf's lips. "The only reason you haven't collapsed, yet, is because I'm holding you upright and I'm certain your head still hurts, as well." He shuffled Harry back to the blanket and fur nest and helped him down. "We can resume our talk, when you feel better." He pressed another kiss to Harry's temple, which the brunet endorsed with a contend sigh. The short surge of adrenaline was already ebbing away and leaving him tired again.

But he hadn't been this optimistic in ages.

_**Rule number 4: Don't try subtle advances on Harry Potter. They won't work anyway.**_


End file.
